


run to the party and dance to the rhythm (it gets harder)

by Catja



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Fingering, First Kiss, Multi, Public Sex, The 100 WTFluff Challenge, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 01:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20612837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catja/pseuds/Catja
Summary: Josephine takes Clarke to her first high school party and makes sure she gets some other firsts, too.





	run to the party and dance to the rhythm (it gets harder)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lana Del Rey's cover of Doin' Time. Unbetaed.

It’s Clarke’s first party, six weeks into her freshman year of high school, and so far, it _sucks._ She’s barely been here half an hour, and she’s already done, would already be gone if she wasn’t depending on Josie to get home. 

Josie invited her and gave her a ride, even made Gabriel sit in the back so Clarke could have shotgun, let her pick the music, promised that she'd hang out with Clarke. And now she’s disappeared with her boyfriend.

So Clarke’s just leaning against the wall in a dark corner of the dining room, sipping on a bottle of beer even though it’s _disgusting_, trying to spot anyone else she knows without looking like she doesn’t belong.

It’s bad enough that she’s totally overdressed for this. She picked a tank dress— with pockets— that she loves and looks cute in, gray with a pink floral pattern, just because it’s pretty much fall now and almost too cold for her summer clothes, with a cropped denim jacket, hair pulled back just at the crown of her head, and a little lipstick borrowed from her mother. A few other girls are wearing dresses, but they’re tight, _sexy_. Everyone else is way more casual, like they’re all sick of dressing up in their Arcadia Prep uniforms so they’re leaning hard toward the other end of the fashion spectrum.

Really, it’s like every other girl got the handbook on how to dress and behave the day they started high school, and Clarke has to figure it out on her own. And if she shows up at the next party wearing the same thing Josie’s wearing tonight, skinny jeans and a thin sweatshirt, the same thing a dozen other girls are wearing, they’ll probably all have moved on to something else.

If Clarke even comes to another party.

She finishes her beer and fills a red cup with Dr. Pepper, since she’s already feeling the effects of the beer, but some senior she takes the bus with pours in some whiskey without bothering to ask. It doesn’t taste that bad, at least. Better than the beer.

Her phone buzzes. It’s just some dumb app notification, but Clarke unlocks her phone anyway, checks her twitter and tumblr and Facebook in case anything’s changed in the last five minutes. Of course nothing has, and of course, Clarke feels even more pathetic. 

She takes a gulp of her drink, then another, and figures she might as well wander around and pretend she knows people.

The party’s at some typical suburban McMansion, Clarke's not sure whose exactly, spread out over three floors and spilling out onto the back lawn. There’s a pool, already covered for winter, with a couple hooking up on the diving board. Someone’s pretending to joust with the pool skimmer, and there are about fifteen people crammed onto the trampoline.

Clarke considers stepping outside, getting a few breaths of clean air and maybe some relative quiet, but it’s not like she knows anyone out there either. She’d just have to walk back inside again.

The kitchen is packed full, food filling every inch of counter space, and the living room is _worse_ with the makeshift dance floor and oversized speakers. Upstairs is an unknown, and probably nothing Clarke’s prepared to deal with tonight.

Downstairs it is.

As soon as Clarke gets to the bottom of the stairs, she sighs, relieved. It’s not so loud, not so crowded. There’s a group surrounding the tv playing some violent video game, and another tucked into the opposite corner, a big circle on the floor, contained by an oversized leather sectional.

And Josie’s there, and a few other juniors and seniors Clarke vaguely recognizes, other athletes and honor roll kids. One girl is completely topless, nipples puckered in the chilly basement. It’s very difficult not to stare.

“Clarke!” Josie says, once Clarke’s most of the way across the room. “Why’d you wander off? I told you to follow me.”

Clarke doesn’t bother defending herself, just shrugs. “Sorry.” 

“Join us!” Josie says, leaning over Gabriel to shove the guy next to him. He obliges, makes room for Clarke to sit down, and Clarke nods her thanks. “We’re playing a game.”

Across the circle, some guy from the soccer team is straddling a football player’s lap, grinding down to some imagined rhythm. Clarke watches, fascinated, sips at her drink, while Gabriel explains the rules.

It’s some kind of spin-the-bottle hybrid, except instead of kisses, it’s dares pulled out of a shoebox. There’s an array of liquor bottles on the floor next to Josie for anyone who forfeits.

By the time Gabriel finishes, the boys have pulled apart. “Lap dance,” he explains. They’re both hard; Clarke’s never seen a boy turned on before. That she knows of. She looks back down at her drink, knows she’s blushing. No one else seems to notice or care, of course.

Josie spins to pick the next victim, and it lands on Echo, basketball. She draws skinny dipping. 

“Fuck that, I’m not moving,” she says. "One shot.”

There’s a bit of yelling, everyone shouting out a different number of shots Echo has to take, and after a minute the group lands on three. The guy next to Clarke was going for seven, way more than anyone else, and when he catches Clarke looking up at him, confused, he just grins. “She’s my ex,” he says. “I know she can handle it.”

Echo takes the shots, gets cheered after each one. The guy leans toward Clarke, mouth close to her ear, breath warm on her skin. “You’re a cheerleader, right? Freshman?”

She nods. “Clarke.”

“Bellamy. Senior. Finally.” He takes a gulp of his beer; his hand looks massive against the narrow neck of the bottle. Clarke watches the bubbles popping in her own drink to keep from staring at him. “Bet you'll look cute in your uniform," he says, eyes tracking over her body. Bellamy's on the football team, she recalls, probably plays baseball or runs in the spring. She's been to a couple of games, even though freshmen don't get to start cheering until homecoming. "Do you just know Jo from the squad, or what?” he asks, while a softball player demonstrates her oral skills on her girlfriend’s fingers. 

Clarke feels like her face is just going to be permanently red from now on. “Oh, no, I’ve always— our moms work together.” It makes her feel unbearably young to say it, but she tells him, “Mom asked her to look out for me at school.” She glances back over at Josie, stretched out into the middle of the circle, taking up as much space as she wants, knowing that she’s beautiful enough and smart enough and brave enough to get away with whatever she wants to do.

“She’s a good person to have on your side,” Bellamy says, and Clarke pulls her eyes away from Josie for just long enough to give him a half-smile.

Josie spins again, makes Nate Miller pick a girl to kiss. That’s not what the slip of paper said, but Clarke and Gabriel and Kaylee, on Josie’s other side, all know better than to say so. He chooses Harper, slips her enough tongue for everyone to see, and after, he takes a shot anyway, swishes it like he wants to wash her away. 

The bottle points to Bellamy next. 

“Chicken,” Josie reads, then scans the circle. “Do Clarke.” 

Clarke has no idea what that means, but Bellamy turns toward her, puts his arm on the couch they’re leaning against, almost around her shoulders. She doesn’t know what he’s going to do to her, but everyone else does, so she can’t ask.

But maybe her confusion shows on her face. “So what,” Bellamy says to Josie, “she drinks when she stops me?”

“Number TBD by how high she lets you go.”

Everyone is staring at her, so she looks at Bellamy and tries to ignore the rest of them. He really is gorgeous, dark hair sweeping across his forehead, eyes deep and intense looking back at her, shoulders broad and arms strong. The last time Clarke was this close to a boy it was just Wells, who’s six months younger than her and still at the middle school. Bellamy’s eighteen, and a man in a way that makes Clarke’s breath catch in her throat. 

“Tell me to stop as soon as you want, okay?” he says, soft, just for her.

And then he touches her. 

Bellamy starts at her feet, brushing over her toes then running a finger along her arch, skipping over her sandal straps. Her foot jerks a bit, ticklish, but she doesn’t stop him. 

“Oh, come on,” someone across the circle says, annoyed. “That’s cheating. Start higher.”

But Josie says, “I’ll allow it,” and Bellamy continues on, curling his finger around her ankle then stroking upwards. He’s going so slow, letting her get used to his fingers, rough on her smooth skin. She shaved twice this afternoon, once she decided what to wear. She hopes he appreciates it.

By the time he’s halfway up her legs, Clarke thinks she has it figured out. “What happens if I don’t stop you?” she asks, voice low.

Bellamy squeezes her knee. “If I stop before you tell me to, I drink.”

"And if neither of us stops?"

"Good question." His fingers trail up the inside of her thigh, agonizingly slow, and without even realizing it, Clarke lets her legs fall just a little open, just enough for him to move just a little higher, not enough for anyone else to see up her dress.

She shouldn’t have worn a dress.

No one else has touched Clarke where Bellamy’s touching her now, a few inches above the hem. She barely touches _herself_ there. It feels so nice, though, she can’t bring herself to stop him yet. She’s already lightheaded enough. There’s no way she could handle shots right now. Her legs keep twitching, every time he hits a spot Clarke didn’t realize was ticklish, and she bites her lip to keep from saying anything. 

Bellamy goes slower the higher his hand gets until there’s only an inch left. It feels like her whole body is on fire, like his fingers burned wherever he touched her and the flames spread from there. 

Clarke opens her mouth to stop him, but before she can get the sound out, he presses two thick fingers firm between her legs, and she lets out a gasp instead.

They sort of gape at each other for a second, and then Bellamy says, “I hit her underwear, so we’re through, right?”

Josie shakes her head, smiles all slow. “She didn’t say stop.”

Bellamy presses his forehead against Clarke’s, fingers still against her, then bites out, “Fuck it.” He tugs her into his lap, and she hides her face in his neck so she doesn’t have to look at Josie or Gabriel or anyone else.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, voice darker than before, mouth against her neck, face pressed into her hair. 

Clarke can’t say anything. She’s let him go this far, and she knows she’ll lose if she stops him. Clarke hates losing at the best of times, and now she’s at a party full of strangers that she’ll know for the next few years at least. She can’t give up now.

Bellamy pets her between her legs, just for a minute. She's soaked through her underwear, and she knows that _he_ knows and the knowledge makes her burn a little more. Then he pulls the soaked fabric to the side, and _fuck_, he knows exactly what he’s doing. All Clarke can do is let him. 

He starts slow, fingers light against her, the same way he touched her legs, brushing up and down her slit, and then, after Clarke lets out a needy whine that she’s certain she’s never produced before, he slips one finger into her, thumb pressing up against what Clarke thinks is her clit. It feels so much better than when Clarke’s tried, so good that the noise from the party fades away, and all Clarke hears is Bellamy’s steady breath against her ear, her own gasps, the slick slide of his fingers.

And then Josie says, “I wanna see.”

Clarke blinks her eyes open. She’s crawled over Gabriel and set herself between Clarke and Bellamy and the rest of them, kneeling as close as she can get, eyes dancing between Clarke’s face and Bellamy’s hand. When she pulls the hem of Clarke’s skirt up around her hips, at least no one else can see, even if they all know what’s going on, how good Bellamy’s making Clarke feel. Clarke isn’t completely exposed, but Josie’s sharp gaze makes her feel laid bare. It would probably feel the same even if she were covered head to toe. No one’s ever looked at Clarke like this before, like she’s the most fascinating thing in the room. It doesn’t make sense, for Josie to look at her like this.

It gets harder to keep her eyes open when Bellamy somehow gets a second finger inside her. 

“She’s tight, isn’t she.” Josie says. “Tell me.”

Bellamy pulls Clarke closer, his free hand tight around her waist. She can feel him hard against her ass, and it makes something clench inside her. “So fucking tight.” He presses a kiss to her hair, surprisingly gentle compared to the steady pressure of his thumb against her clit. “Fucking perfect.”

Clarke can’t help but smile at the surprising show of affection from this boy she’s just met, who maybe knows her body better than anyone else, who likes making _her_ feel so good. Josie’s eyes tighten, just a little, and she watches Bellamy for a long minute.

“Three fingers,” she says, firm, no room for argument.

“I can’t—” Clarke says, whimpering.

“Are you telling him to stop?”

Clarke can’t quite bring herself to say no, she’s not going to stop him, even though honestly, as good as it feels, it hurts too. She’s stretched in a way she couldn’t have imagined, doesn’t understand how anyone could want anything even larger inside them. But she can’t get the words out. It’s a little easier, knowing that Josie’s the only one really watching, that no one else can see just what Bellamy is doing to her.

She closes her eyes. Stays silent.

The third finger _hurts_. 

A hand cups her cheek, wipes away a tear. “You little slut,” Josie says, warm and sweet, all admiration, and then there’s a mouth pressed against hers. It’s not like any first kiss Clarke had ever imagined. She doesn’t really know what to do, but luckily Josie takes charge, lips firm, one hand on Clarke’s cheek guiding her, the other on her thigh, holding her open for Bellamy, grounding her, helping Josie stay balanced. 

Something wet brushes against her lips, firm and unyielding, and Clarke gives in, lets Josie’s tongue invade her mouth, whimpers at the taste of cinnamon, like the gum Josie’s always chewing in class even though it’s against the rules, like the Fireball Josie drinks. Once Clarke gets used to it, it feels nice. Feels wrong, too, but Josie hums in approval when Clarke tries using her own tongue, so it can’t be all bad.

Everything’s just too much, Josie’s mouth against hers and Bellamy’s hand between her legs, and when Bellamy lets his hand slide up to cup her breast, and Josie follows a heartbeat later and pinches her other nipple through the layers of fabric, Clarke hits whatever peak they’ve been driving her towards, falls off the edge with a whimper.

It’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her entire life. She can't imagine anything better than falling apart in Bellamy's arms, face tucked into Josie's neck, surrounded by them.

When she comes back to herself, Josie’s pulled back a little bit. Bellamy has one hand on her knee, fingers wet against her skin, another stroking up and down her back.

“Good girl,” Josie says. “I’m impressed. But you both lose. I’ll let you each off with one shot apiece.” While Kaylee pours out the shots, Josie pulls Bellamy’s hand up to her mouth and licks his fingers clean, eyes on Clarke the whole time. It’s shocking, makes the whole thing seem even more filthy. God. Clarke can’t believe any of this just happened. 

It’s going to get out to the whole school, probably. By Monday, everyone will know that Clarke let a stranger touch her in front of a dozen other strangers. What if her parents find out? Or the teachers? What if she gets expelled?

But Clarke knows that if she had to pick again, she’d let Bellamy make her feel this good every time, audience or not, whatever the consequences. She’d let him do it again right now. She’d let _Josie_ do it, if she wanted. Not that Josie would want her, but. She would.

Bellamy takes the shot easily, but Clarke can’t do it all at once, takes it in a few short gulps, grimaces at the burn. If she keeps coming to parties with Josie, she’ll have to get used to it. 

“You two make a cute couple,” Josie says, twirling her hair. “You can take Clarke to homecoming, I know you don’t have a date yet.”

“Fine. If you want to,” he adds, smiling at Clarke. “I’d love to go with you.”

Bellamy really is very handsome, and the way he looks at her makes her whole body go warm. “Yes, I’d like that.” No one else she knows already has a homecoming date. 

Josie leaves them alone for the rest of the game. Clarke slides off of Bellamy’s lap but stays close, his arm around her shoulders, her hand on his knee. Clarke’s seen Josie and Gabriel tangled up just like this before, and eventually Bellamy starts playing with her fingers, so he must not mind.

She’s getting this high school thing figured out.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, the more comments I get about writing a second chapter the less likely I am to actually find the motivation to write it. Other comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I'm also catja on tumblr.


End file.
